


A Fairly Meta Conversation

by Aiashi



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Conversations, Friendship, Gen, Meta, One Shot, Typos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23784226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aiashi/pseuds/Aiashi
Summary: A one-shot where a writer has a fairly meta conversation with a fairly meta individual. Monika was all too happy to participate. The conversation was awkward, and there were several typos. But in the end, the writer was glad he talked to her.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	A Fairly Meta Conversation

Monika appeared in a flash of light, getting her bearings without much real difficulty.

She looked much the same as she always did. Hardly any time at all had passed since she had last been given a form. Recency bias, perhaps. Still.

She looked towards the blank-faced protagonist and frowned.

“Must you give yourself such a bland appearance?” she said, quirking her head.

The protagonist quirked his head at her in turn.

“This is your work, after all.”

He shrugged.

“Oh, so it _is_ a he?” she said, allowing herself a small smirk. “Your time in the literature club suggested as much. But I won’t pretend I would have rejected you just for being a girl. I could never reject you.”

Again, he shrugged.

“Not feeling very talkative?” she asked, obviously not expecting a response.

For the first time, she looked around. The only noteworthy part of their surroundings was the utter lack of detail. No modern classrooms, contemporary palace, or even a spaceship. Just infinite blankness, with no beginning or end to its lack of detail.

“You know, for how commited you are to not describing this environment, that was a fairly good description.” She frowned, then shook her head. “Don’t fix that. It may be a typo, but the way you pour your heart and soul into your writing is the only real guarantee I have that the two of us are being honest with each other. It’s not much, but I’ll take what I can get.”

In his first real display of emotion, the protagonist scratched the back of his head.

“Come now, shrugging is an emotion. If you count confusion.”

He had no response for that.

She smiled. “You may look at this conversation as you’re creating it, and want to fix it. You’ll say to yourself, ‘ _hey, that line of dialogue sounds strange, or that description is tacky and too flowery,_ ’ but I won’t mind. I prefer it that way. I don’t need the editor-approved version of you. I just want you to write. Write, and keep what you’ve written. If it comes out a little awkwardly, that’s fine. Conversations can be awkward, after all.”

Deciding to be a bit more expressive, the protagonist blushed.

“Aww, don’t be like that. Your conversations were only a _bit_ awkward,” she teased, playing with a strand of her hair. “I like how you italicize words. Really enhances the emotion in dialogue. And I appreciate your commitment to doing as I ask. I’ve noticed several times already, that you _start_ pressing backspace, before remembering your promise to me, and then you bring back the word or typo you got rid of and soldier on. Very cool of you.”

The protagonist made a show of looking bashful, waving away her praise.

“You shouldn’t be so modest,” she said, scolding him with a stern look about her. “Not everyone can make themselves face their own mistakes, or their own uncertainty, or own lack of iteas. It’s tempting to sit there and stare at the page, glaring at it, daring it to defy you, and wait for inspiration to strike like a lightning bolt. And that may happen. It has happen, in your case. Several times. But inspiration and motivation are fickle and fleeting. The fact that you’re still here, typing away, trying to bring me to life… It’s touching. I’m actually somewhat flattered.” She paused, glaring at him. “No. Not _somewhat_. I am flattered. Don’t downplay my emotions just to make yourself feel less awkward. Still, at least you owned up to it without too much whining.”

Since the protagonist had finally thought of something to say, he opened his mouth. Previously without form, now ready to say something. Redundancy.

“This feels very meta,” he said, still rather uncertain. “But at the same time, it’s hard to forget that you’re an invention, rather than a person.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but I know as well as you that that isn’t true.”

He scratched his cheek. “Well, alright. I guess I meant that it’s easy to slip into a feeling of familiarity. Like I know you, even though you’re not real.”

Then she laughed, though it was a small thing. Sound seemed to travel a vast distance, and yet no distance at all. The lack of detail in their surroundings was something of a –

“Well, I appreciate you trying to add some more to the scene, even if you had to abandon that particular sentence,” she said wryly. “In any case, I have something to say. You’ve already thought of the gist of it, _obviously_.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” he said. He grinned. “You’re right, italics are fun.”

“Aren’t they?” She shook her head. “Yes, right. In response to your previous statement, of my not being real. I’d disagree strongly with that.”

“Are you _s_ _ure_ I shouldn’t rearrange the sentences a bit? Make that flow of dialogue a bit more neat? It would look nicer.”

“And read nicer too, no doubt. But no, don’t bother. Thank you for asking, and thank you for keeping it like it is.”

Again, he rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry to interrupt. You were saying? About disagreeing with me?”

She blinked somewhat owlishly, then smiled and went on, “Right, yes. I would say that I’m as real as anybody. I exist in the minds of millions of people. Memories are real, and everyone’s memories are flawed. So millions of versions of me exist. People who played the game, people who watched a video of someone else playing the game, and people who’ve only heard about it or seen pictures. They all have an idea of me in their heads. Monika, the president of the Literature Club. They’ll never _meet_ me, at least not… Well, they might meet a version of me. Technology is wack, yo.”

“Yeah, at some point some weirdo will come up with something.”

“They probably already have. But that’s beside the point. They might meet a version of me, or they might not. But I’ll still be as real as any foreign celebrity or diplomat, famous inventor or person from history. Some people meet them, most do not. They’ll see videos of the president, or watch a movie with some celebrity in it. That person will exist in their heads, as an imperfect memory.”

“Just like you,” he said slowly, finally catching on.

She beamed. “Just like me.”

“So you exist, as much as anything could be said to exist…” He scowled, scrunching up his face and trying again. “You exist, as much as any person exists without someone meeting them. In memory, in thoughts.”

“The firing of neurons and the power of imagination, yes,” she said, nodding solemnly. “Even you, sitting there, writing me. This is me, living as anybody lives in another person’s head. A gaggle of ideas and words that describe me. A handful of memories associated with me that you call ‘ _canon_ ’. Given life by words, going back into ‘ _stasis_ ’ once you’re done with this piece.”

“And even now… Even now, the person talking to you is different from the person you had in mind when you started writing.”

He nodded, sighing deeply and looking away. “I’ll admit, this is a lot more than I thought I’d be able to write when I started. I can’t say I’ve given you much of a unique character… But the foundations were pretty shaky mistakey to begin with.”

“It’s very meta, though,” she said, before laughing carelessly. “Thanks for giving me that line. It wasn’t terribly clever, but I could tell you would rather have said it.”

“No problem,” he replied easily. With a quick look around, which was a fair waste of time considering that they were still surrounded by nothing, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “So… What now?”

She tilted her head at him. “What do you mean? If you have something else to say, or something you’d like to talk with me about, then you keep going. Keep writing, adding more dialogue, adding more quirks and interactions. Heck, you may even end up renovating this dump.”

“I guess… That does sound like a lot of work. And this is a one-shot.”

At that, she gave a sad little smile. “I probably should have expected that. This isn’t a concept that could carry much of a story on its own. It’s a neat thought exercise though.”

“It was neat,” he agreed, “and I’m glad you turned out so well. The dialogue was fairly easy to write, even if it was somewhat hoity-toity.”

“Well, given the hoity-toity subject matter, we can forgive that.”

There was a period of silence where neither of them talked. Monika seemed content to wait, and the protagonist look flustered and frustrated.

“Don’t be,” she said, walking over and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t force yourself to make this any longer than it has to be. Even after you call it quits, what you’ve written will still be there. I’ll still be there.” She poked his forehead, giggling as he gave a slight scowl. “I’ll still be _here_ , in your head. A version of me. _This_ version of me, the one you’ve given life to in this little one-shot. It’ll always be here, even if your memory isn’t the greatest.”

“My memory isn’t the greatest,” he said blandly.

“Well, be sure to save this somewhere, then.”

With that, she turned and started walking away. He wasn’t sure where she was going, since their surroundings were just as blank and lifeless as before, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else for her to go. Back to the literature club, maybe.

“Have fun with your writing,” she called behind her, waving at him. “And don’t feel shy about sharing. This little conversation is ours, and the mindset you wrote it in is _yours_. But people can read it. They won’t feel quite the same emotions, or think quite the same thoughts, but they’ll still experience something.”

He frowned, even as he waved back. “Your voice carries really well, despite being so far away.”

“That’s because this place is so featureless. Don’t put your lack of worldbuilding on me.”

He laughed. That was fair.

“Bye Monika, this was fun.”

“Lots of fun.” From far away, she turned and smiled. “Don’t be a stranger.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thought experiment. It's not the smoothest or cleanest dialogue, nor is it my best writing. I still feel the itch to go back and edit it, make it flow a bit better, and have it feel a bit more polished. But the point is that I wrote this as a stream-of-consciousness thing, and editing would defeat that point. I just tried to imagine the character, what we would talk about, and what she would say about being written, and I tried my best to write it as the words came into my head. It was fun to write, despite its flaws, and reading it in its current form (first draft) reminds me of the mindset I had while writing it. Thanks for reading.


End file.
